


it is the fucking serious shit

by Black, smooshkin



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Aesthetic Porn, Bathtub Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 15:39:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11740077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black/pseuds/Black, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smooshkin/pseuds/smooshkin
Summary: Early morning aesthetic bathtub sex (with art)





	it is the fucking serious shit

**Author's Note:**

> Before Jensif, there was Jensard.
> 
> I really love this RP and wanted to share it. Kind of an au where Frank follows Adam to Prague and stays with him there. 
> 
> I start with Adam and Smoosh follows with Pritchard, enjoy!

= * =

Repose.  
Unfamiliar, unspoken.  
He drifts.  
drifts.  
Feathered apart in the ocean.  
cold, frigid.  
  
he’s remembering more. thinking more. cold spikes. pulling out the ice. working his fingers around it, separating skin from blood from muscle from fat. he can’t feel it. not anymore.  
  
isolation.  
back against the wall, head tilted as he sinks further into the warmth. something to chase the chill away. winter always seeped deep - it melded man, welded machine. But today. today. the cold stung heavy and he didn’t  
  
crave. Hm. He takes a drag from his cigarette and closes his eyes, lets the burn resonate before parting his lips and letting it plume. hazy. early morning lazy. he shifts again, letting the heat ebb the tension and he relaxes his legs. feels them decompress as they dangle over the side of the tub.  
  
the bubbles curl and cave around him, clinging. obscuring. sandalwood and lavender. some hint of citrus. his free hand reaches, searches, locates his glass of whiskey and he brings it to his lips. the smoke shudders, heaps as he exhales, takes a drink.  
  
the burn. the warmth. the sentinel can chase the liquor out but it can’t kill old comforts. old comforts. alone in his apartment on his days off from Sarif and sitting in bathtubs alone in the dark and  
  
wondering. wondering where he’d be next.  
  
he wishes he could still wonder. Adam knows where his odyssey will take him -- the sun claws gently through the windows, a mute dark. warmed only by the rising beast. She has yet to bare her teeth.

Will the stars accept him?  
or swallow him whole?  
  
The glass is settled gently on the rim of the tub next to him. another drag, another unsettling whisper. plume. another cigarette. the smoke lingers in the dingy light; manifests itself. alive.  
alive.  
  
He hums and pulls his shoulders back to stretch the muscles, a phantom ache rolling through him. Today he will push forward, he will fixate. focus. find blood. find blood.  
  
but for now, he thinks of Detroit. Her aching light, soft against Sarif’s great gravestones. Longing, but not homesick. It was complicated concept now - he was no longer welcome in the city he protected, loved.  
  
Adam runs his hands against the bubbles piled high, catches some between his fingers and rolls them. watching them dissipate, creep into his joints, fall apart. fall apart.  
  
No.  
he settles them back where they belong, his legs haloed gold by the five-thirty rising sun.

 

= * =

 

Pritchard had dreams. The kind that hooked him through the back of the neck and yanked up. Screaming. He felt the steel slide in, freezing, becoming a part of the blood and flesh around it; Pain. Can't pull out- can't pull out.  
  
And.  
  
Awake.  
  
He sat up, hand and over his eyes and hair over his hand as he was afraid to see quite yet. Lingered in the dark for a few moments longer. He finally allows himself to drop his hands and looks briefly to the side. Adam was gone.  
  
Not unusual. He wasn't disappointed. It was usual.  
  
He reaches out to smooth the black sheet, lips curling into a lopsided sort of grin as he aligns the pillow too. An abstract sort of warmth remained, though Adam's body wasn't there anymore.  Pritchard liked to look at the wrinkles sometimes, imagining where Adam had wandered off to. He liked to imagine it was a boring day for him.  
  
Prayed it was a boring day for him. Sometimes he found himself yanking the bedsheets into order and smoothing them out with something akin to hatred. Please stop.  
  
Needles threatened behind his eyes, his zygomatic bones. Fucking. Stop. And come home. Please.  
  
He found himself trying to snap his PDA in half the day he thought he lost Adam to the alps. Why did you go there? God, wait- your pilot. There's something I need to tell you. No- fuck- Why is it always too late- why is it always _too late._ Do you enjoy this?  
  
And.  
  
The bed was made.

Pritchard was no concierge, but it would suffice for them both. He dragged on his grey joggers, a thin, white tank and little else, pacing out of the bedroom at a contemplative pace. He was in no hurry. TF29 could wait. After all, what more damage could they do. To Adam. There was no hurry. There was nothing he could do.  
  
Frank was tired.  
  
As he passes the bathroom frame, his hands are up in his hair as he ties it back. He feels Adam's familiar presence a moment later than he was prepared to and pauses at the threshold.  
  
Unusual. He wasn't disappointed. But he stares.  
  
The stress he didn't know he had vanished at the sight. So, he wasn't out. He was here; safe. Of course, that wasn't the only thing he registered. The stress of Adam finding trouble was replaced with a subtle, _other_ kind of stress. His expression was one of soft bewilderment.  
  
He turned slightly florid and yet couldn't bring himself to ask. What was there to ask? It was completely fucking ordinary, you idiot.  
  
And yet, it was just Adam. Somehow making it anything but.

 

= * =

 

Adam opens his eyes.  
focused.  
unfocused.  
  
“Frank,” his voice is honey hazed and gruff, but softer than his usual tone. There’s something warm about him, open. he tips the glass of whiskey to his lips again and takes a small drink. savor it. make it last.  
  
make it last.  
  
he focuses on Francis.  
  
the light catches it, amber, as he settles it back down precariously on the ledge. sinking, the water murmuring as he parts his legs further and grows more relaxed, pointing his feet in a languid stretch.  
  
Adam tilts his head to the side as he observes the hacker, watching his facial expressions and the roll of emotions that shine in his eyes. He’s been thinking too much - maybe it was waking up alone again. waking up without him.  
  
Leaving you is painful.  
  
He liked to lay his bed and linger after his alarm, listening to Frank breathe. calm. at ease. sometimes clinging to the edge of the bed, something crammed right between his shoulder blades. leave. leave. no. leave. there’s wolves that need chasing. there’s teeth that need gnashing.  
  
leave. leave. his hand tightens in the sheets. leave. a sigh against his neck. _leave, please please leave you don’t know how hard this is if i don’t come home --_  
  
he had awoken in the snow.  
clawed tight, compressed in his hands.

a corpse breathing. vitals springing back.  
should be dead. should be dead.  
  
Adam lights another cigarette - his third today, and inhales. smooth. plumed thick from his lips as he talks, “Are you just going to stare?” It was no secret to either of them now, the strings.  
  
stained red, pulled tight, tangled around hands around legs. wrists. necks. throats. split along the seams. Adam could feel them - his chest tightened at the look in Pritchard’s eyes and he met them back.  
  
sharp, inviting.  
wanting.  
wanting.  
  
don’t leave me.  
not yet.

 

= * =

 

Francis heard the voice. Oily, warm and black, as usual. He drops his hands from his hair slowly, leaving it in a half-contained mess as he regards the creation in the tub.  
  
The air here is halcyon for a moment and he's almost afraid to move and crack the glass suspended in the light now pouring quietly through the window. Wanted Adam to stay like this. Don't let me rouse you. Bewilderment became a hushed veneration.  
  
He looked like a king. He bore the weight of the crown so well and Pritchard absolutely despised it. How did he do it? Every day? Just stop. Stay.  
  
He continues to witness him, before his nerves directed him to almost leave. He blinks as Adam spoke, his concentration broken.  
  
'Are you just going to stare?'  
  
Pritchard's brows furrow near imperceptibly and he bit the inside of his lip. Florid turns to flush and he fought his nerves. It's always too late. Why was it always too late? All he could ever do was stare. Stare through a fucking screen. Watch him get torn apart.  
  
Not this time.  
  
His eyes flicker to the tiles thoughtfully and his lips curl. His footsteps are a whist as he approached, soundlessly settling to his knees at the side of the tub, outside of Adam's legs.

He gives him a look. Licks his teeth. Dominates the edge of the bath. He almost felt the bristles of his old mane razor up, claws quietly clattering on the ceramic. Eyes wintry but not forbidding.  
  
It suits him.  
  
He reaches for an ankle. Wire-wrapped, polycarbonate, natural. Not at all unusual. He would try and give it a gentle lift from the bottom and pass under it. Claws leaving a bloodless rivet in his new territory between Adam's legs- upon which he now existed. Make it last.  
  
"Give me an alternative." He bares his teeth. A play marker. The desire to hook into and pull was a distant throb. Chased away long ago. Now only footprints in the snow leading somewhere else, covered by a recent tempest. There's a bristle of black fur disappearing into the trees and he's compelled to hunt after it.

 

= * =

 

Adam holds himself firm as Francis approaches,  
eyes lidded. dark in nature.  
dangerous.  
beckoning.  
follow me.  
_follow me_ .  
  
the sun shimmers gold - it cloaks him royal. a challenge, he decrees a challenge. one vaguely laced with teeth, something he hadn’t considered before. bold in his court, cigarette between his lips - words punctuated with smoke as Pritchard slides between his legs. lingers -  
  
“the alternative is that you leave,” you leave me alone. again. again, “and you get nothing.”  
  
A spike of heat curls sharp through his stomach and he shifts, watching as Pritchard settles. teeth sharp over the ledge. Adam above him, crafted high on his throne and there’s  
  
a creature beyond the trees, claws skittering on tile on ceramic on polycarbonate - “but you don’t want that.”  
  
He ashes the cigarette and fixates in watching the burn, the burn. watching it eat up the length of it. he wants to give chase, chase. teeth snapping at hackles at heels. he takes a final drag and crams it down into the ashtray that balances near the cup. it fizzles, struggling  
  
and he turns his attention back to Francis, slipping closer. closer. hips raised, the bubbles heap against his collarbone and he exhales the smoke he’d been holding, obscuring Pritchard’s face for a moment before rising. seeking light.

deeper in the trees, past the thicket and the lake. giving chase. giving chase. he rests the back of his heels against the hacker’s lower back, tugging him closer. to reaffirm the challenge. to see his teeth. wanted to see them gnash, snap. so close to home. so close to veins and vitals and numbers on screens and  
  
stuttering  
sputtering  
back to life.  
  
How could he leave again?  
  
cutting corners and into the den, warm and fiery with autumn leaves. the snow hasn’t crept in yet, frosted at the entrance and he’s waiting, waiting. shadowed and lupine, oily and black. warm. warm. all encompassing. consuming.  
  
Adam smiles, crossed with the thought that he _likes_ Pritchard occupying the space between his legs. peppered smug, wavering in his eyes.

 

= * =

 

Francis' eyes flicker between them and he lets out a breath from his nose. Leave? There was no chance in this frost-rimed hell that he was leaving. He digs in the claws, hearing the snow grind under him. Adam ahead, alive.  
  
For how long? He wanted to snap blunted teeth around his neck, drag him down from the mountain and throw him back inside. Back home. Pin him there by his neck. Stop. Don't go, don't go. A flash flurry of hate and his hands were on Adam's knees.  
  
His spine almost quakes in his fury at the suggestion. He knows it's play. But it almost wasn't.  
  
"I don't." He answers mechanically. "You have as much to lose." He bares his teeth, eyes fixated on his.  
  
"I know you think it. I know you don't say it." He squeezes that elegant curve of Adam's knees and his own teeth squeeze together, jaw tensing as he swallows. Adam looks away to ash his smoke and Francis' nose wrinkles like that of an angry lupine snout.  
  
Look at me like I look at you. And then he does. But it's worse. Well-aimed. Perhaps even calculated.  
  
He blinks through the smoke as Adam sank slightly. He lifts his shoulders in response, some axis between them compelling him to move over the edge of the tub. Another barrier. Another wall. Adam was also good at those. The heels on his spine were enough of an invitation and he adjusts his body, knees against the walls of Adam's petty castle and he dips a hand past the threshold; Down his thigh and into the water.

He lets his thumb hook into a hip and presses as he puts his weight into it- free hand hooking the back of Adam's other knee, bringing it forward with him until he pauses over the other. Just a pause. He licks his teeth, silver eyes flickering back and forth.  
  
For the briefest moment, he wonders what he was doing. Driven by some prey instinct long buried, he brushes away the snow to find the footprints leading somewhere ancient and sleepy. Warm. Autumnal.  
  
And then he decides to rattle the serenity. Shake down the leaves. Bone punctures bough and he pulls with his hand on the other's hip, heaving himself into Adam's den entirely, disregarding the wet. It wasn't uncomfortable. He tries to keep the other leg over his shoulder, use it to urge Adam lengthways, spreading it further from it's counterpart to manipulate his body before he leans forward again, closing the distance between their lips.  
  
Something tangible. He keeps his eyes on him.  
  
Am I awake? Or did they both die in the Alps before he could drag him back home?

 

= * =

 

Adam tilts his head, stares him down at the accusation.  
It’s completely true.  
He doesn’t give.  
Doesn’t gnash and snap, doesn’t confirm it.  
  
at his hackles at his heels.  
fall in line. sink your teeth into my throat and  
pin me down and let me know. let me know.  
don’t leave.  
let me know.  
  
a scuffle in the leaves, scattering under their weight.  
  
He doesn’t startle when Francis seeps past the barriers, the walls. tears them down with bloody hands bloody fingers and god he’s worked so long. so long. knightly rage and little sleep - running on fumes and steam and bottles of caffeine packed tight into tablets and hoping and waiting and anger.  
  
the weight of a hand on his thigh, it alights. rumbles up his spine and growls through his stomach. the water rocks with Pritchard’s weight and Adam --  
  
it’s on his hip now, pressing down. thumbs hooked pretty, petty. pressed into the bottom of tub as Pritchard leans forward, hooking his other leg over his shoulder as he moves and exposes him further. he doesn’t flush, doesn’t pull away.  
  
he tilts his head and closes the distance between them, kissing him with a whisper of fervor. a curl of -- belly up in the leaves, exposed to the frost and snow and creeping. creeping further in. pooling black. thick and tacky. teeth clattering, hooked as he brings a hand around to cup the back of his neck, pull him closer. fingers slatted on the sides. firm.

they’re not teeth, but they still pose a threat. a challenge.  
  
his chest blooms hot - a much better job than whiskey at various intervals throughout early morning. 4 am. 5 am. 6 am. Pritchard. Adam catches his bottom lip between his own teeth on pull away, tilting his head back. nipping. letting go. clattering.  
  
collateral.  
Adam parts the other leg just a little more for him willingly, feeling the ache between his thighs of the pulling skin. It’s pleasant, another stake of heat, of fire. anger. longing.  
  
a howl from the den, cut short by a chatter. a whine. a whine. tail curled and clawed caught in dirt. worrying down. pulling back. his crown crass, only fixated on  
  
“Pritchard,” He warns, quiet, with no real accusation, “ _Francis_ .”  
  
He says no more.

 

= * =

 

Pritchard kept his eyes open as Adam returns the kiss. The hand on the back of his neck keeps- in some abstract way- his mane flat on his hackles. He shifts, the water sloshing from the earlier motion, then back to serenity.  
  
He leans back, lips parted, prickling. He drags his tongue, then teeth over his bottom lip as he extends his arm around Adam's thigh. He rests his head on it for a moment. Making that last. He looks down at Adam fervently. There's another kind of blood to expose. He'd brought the hand under the water back out, along Adam's graceful leg. It rested on his knee, doing nothing to stop it from moving further away.  
  
He even offers his own weight to it, keeping it firmly in place against the side of the tub. His lips curl. "Isn't this cute."  
  
His tone echoes off of Detroit. But he's careful. He turns his head a fraction, pressing his face to the others leg and he squeezes. 'Francis.'  
  
That was enough of a warning. He was well-trained. It took almost half a decade, but he was well-trained.  
  
"Adam." He offers back. His teeth are pearly. He unhooks his arm from Adam's thigh and pushes that aside too and slid closer. He could trust himself with that. He abandons his hold on those legs as his hands are back underwater. Claws on his belly. He'd show him.

He nestles in his claimed territory and his hand scrapes for more. Up his torso, past his collar and settles gently around the side of his neck. It's followed immediately by his blunted fangs. He'd almost forgotten they were in the water until he feels it soak his tank as he leaned in, using his weight to keep Adam where he wanted him. Whatever.  
  
He makes a sound in the back of his throat as he snapped around Adam's neck with tooth and claw, free hand pressing down on his belly, pinned between the both of them; pinning Adam to the bottom. Stay. _Stay._  
  
He finally closes his eyes, brows furrowed as his fingers press into the man's skin. Almost a punishment. One he measures. Disguised as a kiss on his jugular. _Stay._ A threat of movement and the teeth wouldn't be so forgiving. That would be what would stain the snow.  
  
He drags his hand down to Adam's chest and pushes that down too, mouth still exploring the territory on Adam's throat. He feels his fingers pass over the Typhoon's outlets and he presses and drags down, enjoying the difference.  
  
What was the difference? Machines don't bleed. This was just Adam, which he liked just fine.

 

= * =

 

repose, noun:  
the shudder of heat as Pritchard rests his head against Adam’s thigh. Looks down at him. eyes alive - writhing and wild. Color crossed and vivid - he doesn’t know if he’s ever seen him like this.  
  
Adam curls his lips at being called _cute_  
but there’s no real threat, not real heat. bite. anger.  
all for show, a faux struggle for a hold that he’s not even seeking.  
  
It’s thinly veiled curiosity; Pritchard touches his face to both of his legs and Adam wonders how long he’s been wanting this. Adam wonders how god damn long Pritchard has wanted to bite his throat and touch him, fuck him, not bleed him out in the middle of a hallway for everyone to see. wonders how long he’s wanted to hold him down, wanted this. _this._  
  
there’s  
  
a flurry of snow, a beat of legs. claws at the ground. unheaving frozen grass. dirt. no longer untouched. but unearthed. airy. pinned down by nature’s rattled beast, finally unwinding with touch. touch.  
  
_touch me._  
  
  
there’s hands on his belly and he only startles for a moment, biting the corner of his lip as a pang of heat throbs through his dick. he averts his eyes, thankful for the moment at the obscurity of the bubbles. disconnecting, displaced. he can’t see the hands but he can feel them. teasing. threatening.  
  
unvocalized.  
  
Adam shifts himself just enough to roll his head back as the heat of those claws that paw travel up, sopping wet because of his fur unhung, unshed. His vision stutters, ghosts static as he rolls into the touch, follows it, tilts his head against that hand and startles with a small noise at abrupt cradle of teeth on his neck. the slick of his tongue. that heat. radiating; settling beneath his collarbone as he keeps his head to the side, cradled by Frank’s arm.

the weight keeps him nestled against the bottom of the tub, the bubbles dissipating slow as this drags out. as Pritchard drags this out. drags him out. deeper into the cave and into the dark. away. away from prying eyes and laying claim. teeth at his neck and snapping with an unsaid threat of ownership. of blood. blood. something thicker than blood.  
  
he stutters on an intake of breathe as there’s a kiss turned threat to his jugular; Adam feels the heat of Pritchard’s tongue curl against it. feeling the patter of his heart. the stutter as it  
  
beats. one. two. three.  
  
alive, alive.  
Adam doesn’t dare move - he knows that Frank would make good on promises, sung sugar sweet with teeth on weeks old autumn leaves. untouched by snow and allowed to slough to the floor, into the dirt. seeping. soaking.  
  
he does what he can; he squeezes the back of Pritchard’s neck as a response and takes in a deep breath, mourning the loss of his headrest as the hand wanders back down. over his ports, fingers catching. a jolt through him. sensitive. too sensitive. he fights the urge to move with the touch, knowing damn well it could be his last mistake.

 

= * =

 

Francis curls around him, hands splaying over what he knew so well and yet- this was something so new. Sure, he'd touched Adam before. Yes, he'd even felt it necessary to bestow a kiss or two in the past, when mere sight wasn't enough to get his anger across.  
  
But this was new. And he felt something of a hurry to give him the message he's been trying to send for over a year.  
  
Adam was surprisingly malleable- something he didn't expect at all. He'd offer his neck with a turn of his head, pressed back against Frank's hand. Francis grinned into Adam's throat and pressed harder. A mess of fur, bristling with anger. Obsessive.  
  
The hand is still on the back of his own neck, perhaps a threat on it's own. But Pritchard didn't intend to betray it. His teeth relent subtly as Adam tensed under his touch. Fine. He knew he had gotten a little zealous.  
  
Nevertheless, he pauses, weapons suspended like glass in the air before he moves again. By this point, he was as sopping wet as Adam. He breathes against his neck, shoulders flexing as he reaches past the man's head, reaching; bringing their heads closer and he can't help but curl his around Adam's, much like he had his leg. Fuck.  
  
He sighs. "Son of a bitch." He whispered into the air. Something plastic falls, he lurches, pressing their bodies tight together for a moment before they both slide back down and settle into the water. He leans away an inch and gives Adam an appraising look.

He saw the way he moved, where his eyes were moving. He bares his teeth. "Aren't you something.." He says with a gentle tone contrary to his look. He waits, looks him over before returning his hand to his belly and drags it down. He's unceremonious as he lets the heel of his hand check for Adam's arousal. Well, good.  
  
He keeps an attentive inspection on him as he curls his fingers around him and strokes. Makes that last. He takes his hand away briefly, just to quickly hook under Adam's nearest thigh and lift, pulling it up and over his own. He lifts a knee to make it just a bit more of an inconvenience to move it away from where he put it and his hand was back between Adam's legs, his elbow helping to keep the leg spread and in place.  
  
Pritchard was a surprisingly practiced hand for someone so frigid. He gives Adam a look, waiting for whatever Adam would give him. A stop, a go, a look, a sound. That was the blood he was looking to tear out of him.

 

= * =

 

the teeth are off his neck.  
he swallows tight and glances to look at him.  
  
curious.  
it shines in his eyes, catches stars and swallows them whole. curls in their dust, rattles the atmosphere. His fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, wrapping loose strands around them and working the pads of them at skin. subconscious. something intimate. yielding rare.  
  
and Pritchard is leaning close, reaching, reaching back past him and Adam comes close to his throat. fixation. watches it move. can practically feel the pulse and the hum the quiet song and he risks pressing his own teeth to the skin, letting them linger until something clatters to the floor and  
  
Frank is flush against him - fabric on skin on ports on alloy on polycarbonate and Adam is sliding back down into the warmth with him. water pooling, swirling under their combined weights. It’s has cooled considerably; but Francis is hot between his legs.  
  
and  
  
there’s a hand nudging him - it earns a soft noise. something strangled halfway up his throat. akin to a groan, maybe a moan. a noise completely foreign to Adam Jensen, and crafted exclusively for the hacker --  
  
there’s fingers around him. he’s hyperaware of their touch, able to feel each enclose and hold. stroke. it rattles up to his stomach, simmers low in his neck. he doesn’t flush, but the threat remains.  
  
Though it’s gone as soon as it came and there’s a roll of disappointment abruptly replaced by full blown arousal as he’s manhandled, legs pulled open and left completely exposed to Francis. completely as his disposal. his dick throbs at the neglect - pleased a beat later at the hand that finds itself between his legs again. the fingers that stroke low, trace high.  
  
their eyes catch and Adam’s pupils are wide with want.  
blown dark, glassy and unfocused. they turn, trying to come back. back. come back. don’t leave. please don’t leave.  
  
please.

“Frank,” he rumbles at the cease and desist, urging. the muscles between his legs ache, burn. he lives for it. tenses them, wanting to feel the pull. the strain. he knows now he is alive, fire under practiced touched. There’s a stuttering from somewhere in him, a jutting pieces, haggard. begging. begging. something human. wholly human.  
  
something human, “ _yes_ ,” barely a whisper, nearly lost against the sloshing of the water. he says it to the disappearing heaps of bubbles, the obscurity and cover gone. fizzled with the motion, with Frank’s heavy fur.  
  
he arches up just slightly with his belly, just enough to tell him _what he wants_ he wants this. he fucking wants this. after how long it’s been, after all the hands that have been on him have been  
  
unwanted. angry. unwanted. he never wanted those. they stripped him. tore him apart. built him back up. kept him held high. high. towards the sun towards the heat and his wings were melting why couldn’t they fucking see they were melting --  
  
Bring me back down.  
  
  
Adam tilts his head, the stars scattering, caught in constellations warmed quiet by the gold that fills the tub.

 

= * =

 

Pritchard had only paused for the briefest of moments. His expression becomes lighter and he gives Adam a mordant smirk. Oh, yes. Adam really _was_ something.  
  
He continues his handling under the water while his free hand disappeared beyond the others head, his eyes flickering over to follow it to whatever he was getting up to. His hand returned, met his other briefly out of the water before it went back under yet again.  
  
His eyes were also back on Adam. Wistful. He almost wanted to tell Adam how exotic it was to find him like this. So entirely human. Nothing automatic.

  
Nothing like the time the algorithms came as expected. The time he'd ping the machine and the numbers came dutifully reporting back, the blood invisible to his narrow vision.  
  
He took his time. Intentionally infuriating when he felt Adam's body tense. His hand, wrapped around him, slid down further. Once, twice. He licked his teeth and stared at nothing with morbid, predative curiosity as his hand explored all areas between those balletic, handsome legs.  
  
Slowly, of course. Obnoxiously slow. Pritchard rarely rushed anything but he also rarely worked leisurely. But he wasn't handling his computer this time. Adam was no machine.  
  
But Frank was convinced he had buttons.

He swallows, silver eyes blinking into focus as he glances back at Adam. He slides his hand down again, curling his ring and middle fingers as he did so, letting them catch as he pushed them into the other. His lips curl, wolfish as he makes a thoughtful humming sound.  
  
Flexing, he's already pulled his hand away and gives Adam a cheeky look before continuing. Pritchard, at least, had elegant hands, index and smallest finger mooring on the insides of Adam's thighs as the others pressed in again and he contents himself with this for a few minutes.  
  
His free hand curls around the back of the man's neck again and he sneers as he leans in to pin his teeth into his neck again. His tongue tasting metal- the artificial bit of Adam's sternothyroid- and he finds he likes his neck all the more.  
  
His fingers press onto the other side of his throat, pulling him closer, tighter to his fangs. He doesn't leave any marks.

 

= * =

 

Any other time Adam has been on his back  
and belly up,  
he’s been met with blood. blood.  
  
his own. gutted. laid out artistic and pretty over his chest, stomach. with care. hands in him, the cavity of his stomach, gently caressing the twitching gore. the muscle. pearly fingers slid soft against his cheek and promised him another chance. open your eyes. open your eyes. you can do it. loving, thumbs tracing his eyes. they dripped, tilted his head back. told him to relax.  
  
relax.  
the ceiling stared back.  
  
but Francis; there’s claws on his belly there’s claws around his dick and it’s nothing but a gentle simmer of warmth through his hips. his stomach. radiating into his chest and he’s hazy. hazy. the fingers dip down, squeeze with accurate attention, and draw back up.  
  
intimate, his muscles slack in the seams of his legs and he’s content to be touched. content to be paid attention to. how human, how human to crave the interaction, the thoughtfulness. Pritchad’s fingers stroke again and Adam can’t decipher where aug and skin meld, meet. he curls his fingers.  
  
he nearly confuses them for flesh.  
the water has warmed them.  
winter has staved.  
  
Adam comes to focus on Pritchard’s face, watching the teeth flash from his curling lips and he can’t rumble anything other than a contentedness. they could puncture his chest and tug and tug and separate the sinews and strings and things and everything threaded under the muscle and eat his heart and Adam would see him to the stars. focus.  
  
focus.

there’s nothing else in the moment that matters, no other concern. Prague is in ocean away, a sky apart. his bathroom mutes in color, Adam is no longer vivid. all is sterile. royalty - order in the court, riddled silver and gold and bronze, suspiciously heaped like blood long coagulated. congealed and cold.  
  
There’s no startle this time when Pritchard pulls him close, presses his teeth to his neck. a reminder. a reminder. territory. a reminder to those far beyond himself. TF29, Janus, Even ARC - peppered with their gold masks and Marchenko’s aching eyes; Pritchard would eat them all for the pulse humming under his touch.  
  
His eyes threaten to close again at the hand cupping the other side of his neck, fingers pressing against the seams intimately. tugging him closer. skin brushes, warm and content. He craves the touch, the reassurance. something human. Adam gives him a small noise, vocal. low. the barest of sighs as Francis holds him close, keeps him close.  
  
_open your eyes,_ _  
_ _relax_ .  
  
the ceiling smiled back.

 

= * =

 

Pritchard feels the way he eased. Unbent. For all of Adam's adamantine behaviour, this was twice as satisfying. The smallest sound and Frank was pleasured all on his own.  
  
"Oh- Good boy.." He rewards into the flesh of Adam's throat. Unsated, however, he bit down harder and added another finger.  
  
He sneers into Adam's neck, moving his mouth up then, to his jaw. He soundlessly kisses that, feeling with his lips. His hand mirrors his maw and presses the side of the others' face closer. He curses quietly, rolling his forehead to Adam's temple and grumbles.  
  
He can't quite bear that for more than a few moments. Too telling. He shifts, pulling his hands away and leans back, stalking behind the leg held captive- and around it; between them again. He wraps his forearms around them and pulls Adam where he wants him, arranges his legs apart on either side.  
  
He haunted closer, claws curling over Adam's clavicle and pushes him down until his chin rested over the waterline. He presses him against the side and breathes as he arches, vulturine, over him.  
  
He can't help but stare, his eyes ravening. Not unlike years past and yet completely unlike. As he held him, his free hand went into his own completely soaked joggers. After a minute, he pulled them down and immediately tightened their bodies together, disturbing the water.  
  
His hand felt the way between them, followed by his cock, and Frank's lip curls to show his teeth as both hands then curled over Adam's shoulders, elbows pushing hard into his ribs to keep him down.

He breathed, careful- He'd move, careful for Adam's body to give. His snout wrinkled and he made a rumble in the back of his throat followed by a simple, contented 'Mm-hm.'  
  
He had turned his head down at some point, overwhelmed and unable to focus on Adam- which he promptly corrected, settling into this court just fine. Oh, yes. He could find a place here. He looks at Adam again, bloodthirsty, arms pressing and he lowers his head to grant another kiss to the spot under the corner of Adam's mouth.

 

= * =

 

the flush from earlier twists pink.  
faint in the light, muddled from the water and  
  
_Good boy._  
  
the burn of it accompanied with another finger - Adam can’t help the hot gasp that clatters behind his teeth. It’s short, abrupt, but it’s more than Francis has gotten out of him so far and  
  
he doesn’t know what feeling to fixate on. doesn’t know if it should be the rolling in him. the twisting. stretching hot. pushing him. or if it should bubble back to the teeth against his neck, the lips trailing up his jaw. near loving. overwhelming.  
  
it’s not the parting of fingers that jarrs him, but the intensity in which Pritchard rests their faces together. forehead to temple. contemplating. a low rumble in return. graveled in nature.  
  
Repose: in which Adam wants that moment to linger. frost-frozen still in time; he sinks his teeth into it. revels in the silver silence of it all. swallows it whole. every second. clutched tight, buried it under his ribs and left to root. curled tight to alloy. he’ll hold it til it blooms, flowers past his lips. crawls down his throat, his spine.  
  
Pritchard pulls away  
The seed lay dormant.  
  
He’s slack for the wolf, letting him reposition. pose him, doll-like and malleable -- the water creeps up his neck and he has to forcefully tap down the trickle of instinctive panic that comes with it. he wants to spiral back to the ocean and  
  
wants to say he’s drowning. that the ice is lancing too deep. that the pressure in his chest is going to kill him.  
  
but.

he’s entranced, entranced by hands on him and between them and he knows what’s coming next. disbelief. there’s still some disconnect in thought that this is something that Frank has been wanting from far before this day. for all the blood he threatened to draw, all the times he came so close to chewing out his throat. for all the times spent quiet at the diner, fever-dreaming and -- he gives way, the burn is sugarsweet, oil-slick and bubbled black. smokes into the water. ebbs and flows. the hands in his hair the ones around his neck the ones at his wings are sputtering now, scattering at the mounting wolf.  
  
his teeth snarling, snapping. spit flicking haphazardly; Adam curls his tail instinctively. his legs tremble haunted. barely a case, a cause. Prichard hums and Adam tilts his head for tribute, for something to latch onto as he fucks. as he lays claim.  
lets the world know that Adam is his, and that for all the hands that have passed him around,  
  
Franks have been the sweetest. clawed and careful. lips finding his face again.

  
the ghost of a smile, following suit.

 

= * =

 

Pritchard only pulls down harder on Adam's shoulders as their bodies curl. He's deliberate at first, careful- leaning his head down, meeting Adam's mouth with his. This kiss was delivered much more sharply than the first, one of his hands sliding up until his thumb hooked under Adam's fine jaw.  
  
It was that shadow of a smile. Pritchard was familiar with it solely through his unfamiliarity with it. It spurred him almost violently, as if Adam were his rider, holding the reins. Oh, that made him mad.  
  
He'd carefully but insistently keep him where he wanted him, move him where he wanted him as he moved over him. He rolled his back as he fucked him, keeping his teeth pinned to Adam's lips if ever threatened to pull apart.  
  
His movement would protract at times before impassioning again, acutely focused on Adam's body. He would pull his mouth away when he had to look at him, head tilting in a voraciously curious kind of way, eyes searching for something to turn to his advantage.  
  
Sometimes he'd sneer, show his teeth, and breathe heavy. But he was, at all times, completely immersed in Adam, like a beast circling it's favourite lamb- watching with argent eyes for the chance to swipe a bloodless paw into it, maw slavering.  
  
He left Adam's neck alone then, paws moving quickly down his body, into; out of the water and cresting at his knees. He hooks around them and pushes apart. Keeps pushing until he can can fold Adam nearly in half against the side.

He had to stop for a few moments, eyes falling between them as he breathes. His brow wrinkles as he works to keep himself from finishing before Adam, completely still- biting his own lip. His hair had gotten longer since Detroit and hung, still-wet, over his shoulder as he leaned, a few tresses slipping forward to hang loose.  
  
He let out an airy, single laugh as he looks back up at Adam, having recollected himself. He gives those legs another abrupt shove out, spread against the sides as he moves again.  
  
"Do you need a hand?" He asks irascibly. Eyes briefly flickering down between them. Some men could get off without it, some couldn't.  
  
"If so, get started, because I'm busy." He adds with a wolfish grin.

 

= * =

 

limbo. limbo.  
languid.  
lidded  
  
liquor-sweet eyes and he can still taste the whiskey.  
  
amber and anchored, port-side. passive. a heap of thoughts - scattered sudden with the rolling of pressure. skin to aug, all organic. a heat spurred deep, rambled up his spine and blooming in his head. it nestles in each crevice. cervical. a comical heat to teeter, tether. tangle at the base of his throat.  
  
he growls out something half hearted against Pritchard’s teeth, smothered sharp when another push. another pull. another life. another life. hazy. hazy. a town through the fog, something nostalgic-laced, disease riddled with augs and heavy armoury.  
  
Adam thinks maybe, he enjoyed something like this once.  
the memory is foggy, a sea-salt serenade against the ocean.  
  
Frank fucks him back with sharp bite of hips and heart; his stoic expression slips momentarily to bliss. akin to pleasured. a squeeze and gather of his brows, furrowed and concentrated. Adam was out of touch with himself for a brief moment, an apparition lingering outside of the very edges of - fuzzy. it’s fuzzy. and then he’s whole again.  
  
here. hands on him. wholly human and haphazardly  
  
here.  
  
Breathe, Adam.  
Break, break.  
  
break in thought at the pull together. the curl around and there’s movement around his knees and he’s crunched back even further, startling as he’s suddenly repositioned from the earlier pace. his arms drone soft, soft, mutter in his ears as he drapes an arm against Frank, keeping himself steady as the weight in him forces deeper. a beat of recognition.

“Do you enjoy hearing yourself talk?”  
  
The beastly thought is seafoam at the shove, joints burning for just a moment before the creature in him teeths at the sensation. He comes back to fixation, eyes caught on the hair rivering over his shoulders and --  
  
Adam makes the brisk move to move his body up enough to pull his fingers through it. catching the tie and tugging it loose. it falls into the water, soundless, and sinks. he rests his weight back against his arm, against the wall, and steals a snarling kiss. a flash of dominance, teeth clicking in clatter before he sinks back down, the water swelling sharp along with Pritchard as he stills.  
  
He’s here.  
here.  
aware of everything luke-warm rushing in.  
  
Eyes half cosmic, starry and dark as he wraps a hand around himself, the pad of his thumb circling the apex - rolling down hard. pressure sweet as he squeezes and soothes down; chasing the feeling back up and it makes his sigh warble.  
  
He keeps gaze.

 

= * =

 

Pritchard bares his teeth at the nip. "Yeah." He answers tersely, but isn't really paying attention to the words.  
  
He watches Adam's arm come close, his hand curling around his nape and riveting his hair long enough to pull the tie out and discard it. His hair falls easily then, a mess over his shoulders. He lets Adam have this and leaves it where it fell.  
  
He returns the kiss, echoing it's savage flavour; and with a pleasured sound of his own before he'd had enough and gives Adam a rougher draw to urge him back down. He tightens his grip on Adam's legs, the polymer barely, barely giving; but he felt better.  
  
He also felt better after Adam thought fit to thoughtlessly bestow his wavering breath. Pritchard could almost fall apart at the seams at the look on his fucking face. He distracted himself by attacking Adam's throat with a few careful kisses, teeth around his tendons; esophagus; thinks about how it doesn't give as much as he expected. Finds that he likes Adam even more.  
  
When he can finally lean back to meet eyes with him again, feels his hand between them;  
  
"Good _boy_..." He crooned.

He sped up slightly, hooking his claws behind Adam's knees and pushing more. He breathes, pinching his eyes closed, nose wrinkling. He breathes his praise again, quieter and  was determined to last until Adam finished. He was having a difficult time of it and slows again.  
  
"Fuck." He hisses near defeatedly, indignant, opening his eyes to glare at Adam. How on earth was he so beautiful? It made him angry. He knew it was an irrational thought.  
  
He picked up his pace again, leaning forward as he did. His hands clawed their way back up to Adam's neck and he jostled for another kiss; Violent and battle-scarred. As he drove himself in again, he moved his head down further and stopped, momentarily losing himself to ecstasy.  
  
"Mmph." He hummed, biting down hard just below the other's jaw, next to his thumb pressing up into it. As the feeling passed, the pressure would slowly ease on Adam's throat and fangs retracted, though he'd remain still for several beats, brow furrowed.  
  
His hand slid down from that neck and over his shoulders and he squeezes, sidling closer and pressing their heads together. "Mm..hm." He grumbles as he allowed himself to pull out, free hand under the water and clumsily pulling his pants back up.  
  
They were completely soaked, he'd have to ditch them anyway, he thought, lest he flood Adam's apartment.

 

= * =

 

he breathes with  
each movement every press of tooth to tendon to throat  
threaded with a weight untold. threaded and hoarded and heralded.  
  
they are careful - thoughtful.  
caught somewhere between prey and predator and Adam is parting his legs at each throb he’s close he’s close he can tell Francis is close and he’s working his own fingers deftly against himself. familiar. a drone of heat in his stomach - whiskey warm like the days of early summer. the blaze creeping off the asphalt at midday and it’s discordant in the air.  
  
squeezing, he’s pulsing in his own hand, a plume of heat as Pritchard stokes _just right_ and he finds himself dead still, held pretty in that spot with  
  
_Good Boy_  
  
Adam’s eyes shine wild, curls close and cut taught to tight to tactics and he slips his thumb against the head of his dick, coaxing. coaxing. a groan, warped by the heat that’s trying to usurp him.  
  
A creeping threat.  
  
Everything pulls quick, pushes quicker. time seems to skirt and skitter and jump and there’s teeth in his skin. again. the mounting summers in his stomach and giving way to autumn. the den floor is fiery, leaves holed and punctured from scattering claws. foot hold. arms under his legs hands on his knees and he’s --  
  
Adam doesn’t find his own fall out until he’s good and ready. He breaks eye contact only to close them and catch every pulse of heat that the hacker so greedily gives. it slips, pushes deep. a strange feeling, but not altogether unpleasant.  
  
He unravels himself with skilled fingers when those teeth retract and he arches up, stripped of dramatics and parts his legs more, before hooking them around Pritchard’s back unceremoniously. bruising. he gives a choked strangle, cum ribboning disoriented through the water, up his chest. between them. he keeps on, stroking himself through it. slow. with precision.  
  
aware.

he’s hazed and thick when the hand slides down his throat his chest and Frank is pressing their heads together. an ache of intimacy caught in his throat. curdled and churned. but kept. swallowed.  
  
It’s not long before Francis is pulling out and Adam is _almost_ disappointed; the sweet pressure is gone and he’s left empty. water luke warm and near chilling. Adam untangles, suddenly wary of the prolonged affection; he slides to the back of the tub and away now, easily shifting himself from the hacker as he grabs at his only _slightly_ damp packet of cigarettes.  
  
his back meets porcelain and he parts his legs wide, relaxed. the click of a lighter and he contracts around where Pritchard _used_ to be - the heat slips from him, milky and heavy in the chilling water.  
  
he lights one.  
  
eyes lidded and hazed; he exhales constellations.  
not yet able to gift the color back, not yet able to sell this to the sky. he briefly considers thanking him - just to crust the wound in sea salt.  
  
Adam settles on a faint smirk, his earlier smile echoed in peace but curled in new conext. he lets the cigarette hang loose from his lips and extends his arms, across the back of the tub, jet black and --  
  
takes a drag.  
the smoke thick as it seeps from past his lips, haloing his head.  
an unproclaimed crown.

 

= * =

 

Francis feels Adam move under him; knows he's close. He curled his lip into Adam's throat as he heard- felt him groan under him. Adam's brief euphoria extended his own and he buries his face into that fucking throat, moving his body against him languidly, a hand still on Adam's leg as the other has his moment.  
  
Pritchard was an addict already; pressing his hand against that thigh- up, around. Their bodies tighter together as Adam moves- elegant, obscene.  
  
And they settled together for a moment, Frank's breathing heavy now that there were no fangs to block his air. He unravels from Adam once he feels him begin to move, hands now pressing on his chest to heave himself up instead of pin his prey down.  
  
Finally sated.  
  
"Mmph." He hummed, catching his weight on the side of the tub and lifting himself. His body was heavy. He wanted to blame the water and, for a moment, smirked as he remembered some joke someone made about him weighing something unreasonably low while soaking wet.  
  
He egresses the tub and it's an absolute deluge on the tile. He makes a mental note to grab towels from the rack in a few minutes to undo that.  
  
A hand to his eyes. A second hand when he realizes his hair was down. He went through the motion to tie it back- muscle memory, and laments suddenly at the lack of a tie. He glances back at Adam.

"Jackass." he says then, letting his hair drop back down to his slender shoulders. He can't help but return the faintest of smirks and shakes his head as Adam lit his smoke. "Yeah." He says to the air as he trails a river around Adam and the tub, collecting several towels and returning to place them.  
  
He promptly undresses from his sopping clothes and replaces his trousers with a towel, narrowing his eyes at Adam along the way. He regards him thoughtfully. The way he was content to sit there for longer. Pritchard bares his teeth.  
  
But he doesn't say anything.  
  
He feels. Complete. At least for now, he surmised. Adam was here. Safe. And- perhaps maybe the threads between them could be carefully untangled and pulled from another direction. Catching on tresses of matted fur, they'd gently tug the beast out of the clearing; teeth and silver eyes turned another direction tonight as Pritchard leaves the room.  
  
He hopes that in Adam's wandering, maybe they'd tug at him too. That he'd stop sniffing after the old trails of blood leading to where he can't see through the snow flurry.  
  
This sates him.

= * =  



End file.
